


Hearts have a past that must be reckoned.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flash fiction piece: on remembering, and wishing you could forget. Contains spoilers for the Turn Back the Pendulum Arc, with hints of Aizen x Kisuke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts have a past that must be reckoned.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for May 2, 2008.

Memories for Urahara come in brilliant flashes, stained in shades of yellow, brown and old rose – it’s almost as if someone took the film of his past and sliced it up, jumbled the frames, and cut around a little further, to focus on nothing but the little but significant details: the play of shadow and sunlight in another’s hair, a sidelong glance, a killer smile.

 

He provides the rest of the details on instinct, because the body remembers: weight, heat, movement; cum on his belly, cock between his legs, teeth nibbling on his nipple, sweat pooling in the hollow of his neck. That hand was warm on his cheek, made warmer still by the fact that it had been raining outside his room. That smile was a knife to his gut, sharp as the need twisting his stomach into knots as he thrust into him, with surgical precision and loving care.

 

When he winced, there was nothing but a soft laugh somewhere above him, and a shadow against his ear whispering one word:

 

 _“Hush.”_

 

Urahara comes back to himself with a jolt. There are shadows in his eyes and a hand on his forehead, one smaller and distinctly feminine even with the calluses of too many battles marring the skin of its palm.

 

“Kisuke, it’s okay.”

 

Amber eyes. Yoruichi only shakes her head, turns towards the rain. In the odd half-light of a stormy morning, the age lines near her mouth look like tiny scars.

 

“You were having a nightmare.”

 

He wants to speak, to explain, but the words never come.


End file.
